The Sleep of the Just
by Suspicious Popsicle
Summary: A series of shorts written about Flynn and Yuri's dreams set during or shortly after the game.
1. The Sleep of the Just

A/N: This one was another challenge, based off of a picture I've linked in my profile. There might be one or two minor edits here that I didn't catch before posting the tumblr version.

The characters in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

The raucous screams of crows filled the still courtyard that fronted the imperial palace. Their flapping created an unending echo of movement, a call to feast. The hoarse laughter of their calls mocked Flynn as he walked slowly through their ranks.

Plish.

Plish.

Plish.

Puddles were unavoidable. The fighting here had been particularly vicious, and the once-shining white paving stones were now islands encroached upon by a red sea. It was leaking into his boots, but he couldn't feel it for the numbness that had taken him over, couldn't think about it for the dread certainty that kept him walking forward.

Plish... Plish... Plish...

He couldn't look at the olive and brown lumps strewn to either side of his path. Dulled silver glinted, calling to his attention, but he kept his eyes resolutely forward. A cyclopean crow shot out of the darkness beyond the gaping doors of the palace, and he froze as the thing darted straight for him. As the creature flapped past, close enough that its feathers brushed his ear, Flynn saw something red and wet trailing behind it, and he realized it hadn't been a monster, but just another carrion bird with a choice morsel in its beak.

The steps were a series of sluggish, dribbling waterfalls. The crows fluttered and splashed as if in a birdbath. They jeered as he climbed past them, unafraid of his presence in the middle of their festival. Flynn tried to concentrate on simply lifting one foot after the other until he reached the landing.

There had been a concentrated attempt at defense just outside the doorway. He could tell by how thickly the bodies lay piled there. The sight of a roiling mass of black, feathered bodies atop what had been a person made his flesh crawl. He quickened his step.

Plish. Plish. Plish.

Inside, the air had merged with the shadows. It wrapped him in a rank, humid embrace, slipping in against his skin and trickling down this throat, thick enough to choke him. It felt as if he was walking through a warm fog, and he tried not to breathe too deeply.

The signs of battle were sparser in the dimly-lit hallway, though they remained apparent. Tables and potted plants had been overturned or smashed. Paintings and tapestries had been torn down or left stained lurid red by splayed, clawing fingers. A confusion of dark, tacky footprints provided a macabre map of the progression of the fighting. Every now and again, there would be a dark form crumpled near the wall, motionless.

A golden pillar shone at the end of the hall. Light, the light of the setting sun, beckoned. Flynn walked on toward it, drawn dumbly, inescapably. The light was his fate, his doom. He would know what lay in store for him there if he would allow himself to think of it. Fear swelled in his mind, filling all the spaces where his thoughts should be. It increased with the growing numbers of the fallen, clothed in red now and numerous enough to flood the hallway. The river crept toward Flynn and flowed around his boots, seeking the ocean where crows feasted on the shores.

Plish, plish, plish!

The light called to him even as he felt a growing repulsion for what must await him within it. He knew that evil could cloak itself in light, in honor, in righteousness. Evil waited for him at the end of the hall, and he was rushing headlong for it. There was no turning back, no turning aside. He couldn't delay, couldn't stall, had to hurry, had to keep going, had to reach that taunting glimpse of gold...!

_Plish_!

Flynn burst through the double doors into the receiving room of the palace. The place was a battleground. Corpses littered the floor: people he recognized, people he worked with. Their faces had been changed by the agonies of death into twisted and horrifying masks. They had been slashed, stabbed, beaten, broken, tossed aside, trampled down. Their identities flashed into and out of his mind as quickly as his gaze raked over them and moved on.

Sunlight poured though the towering stained glass window, broken up by the rays of a shining star. A throne sat before it, pierced by arrows that had missed their mark, and flanked by swords and spears that sagged like simpering courtiers from the bodies of the victims they impaled. The throne loomed with unsettling potential amid the deathly stillness, swallowing up the light that would otherwise have fallen upon its occupant. Flynn grasped for his sword, but it was no longer in its sheath. He saw it in the hands of the only other living being in the room, its familiar hilt caressed by equally familiar fingers. Unable to deny the truth any longer, Flynn took in the sight of Yuri lounging on the shadowy throne, a velvet cloak draped over his shoulders, a crown sitting crookedly upon his head.

"I kept it warm for you," he said with a smile. Standing, he took a step forward, offering Flynn the pristine sword.

Words wouldn't come. Shaking his head, he stepped backward and tripped as his foot came down on something soft. He fell with a splash, and found himself staring into the wide, dead eyes of Councilman Ragou and Captain Cumore. They'd been speared together through the heart by Yuri's bloodied sword.

"I did it for you," Yuri said. Flynn's sword flashed down before his eyes, cutting off the sight of death. "Look. Not a spot on it."

Horror rose like bile in Flynn's throat until he couldn't hold back his scream.

Thrashing, he threw back the covers and sat straight up in bed. His ears still rang with his shout, and he couldn't catch his breath. Shoving the blankets away, he welcomed the cool night air that replaced the swampy heat of the dream and left him shivering.

Movement beside him had him reaching for a sword that wasn't belted to his side. Bundled up in the sheets, and still mostly lost to sleep, Yuri rolled over and sighed.

"Flynn..." he mumbled. "Whassa matter?"

He stared down at Yuri's face, peaceful and composed, devoid of the terrible, delighted ruthlessness of his nightmare counterpart. Flynn forced himself to breathe deeply, needing to calm down just as much as he needed to escape the sickening horror of his dream.

"Nothing," he managed. His voice nearly broke on the whisper, but he still added: "Just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you."

With a soft groan, Yuri hooked an arm around his waist and snuggled in close to his leg.

"Knock it off," he commanded tiredly.

"That isn't really how dreams work," Flynn muttered.

He tried to settle back down. The covers were still too warm, and the moist puffs of Yuri's breath over his shoulder as they situated themselves against each other made him shudder.

"Yuri, can you—"

"Go back to sleep." The arm he'd flung across Flynn's chest tightened ever so slightly. "Dream about me."


	2. Troubled Dreams

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

Flynn walked slowly before his assembled brigade, surveying them. They stood like toy soldiers, uniforms and helmets hiding identity, transforming individual into legion. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the shine of Sodia's copper hair. When he turned to look straight at her, she was gone, just another wooden soldier standing mutely at attention.

He was the only thing that moved in all the field. Not even a breeze dared stir. Everything was bright, bright, bright. The cloudless sky was dyed a sharp, stunning blue, the grass painted a dazzling green. He came to a stop. His knights were perfectly arrayed, a human grid. He could almost see them from high above as a series of precise, white points, blotting the color from the field in exact rows and columns.

He stepped forward, one hand outstretched. Had the knight right in front of him been the one with the copper braid, or was it one of the others? Unseen, faces shuffled beneath the helmets, and he took an uneasy step back, hand falling to his side.

"Why are you wearing that mask?"

Yuri's voice was thin in the brittle air, and Flynn turned to him in relief. He stood in shadow, framed by distant, dark mountains. His back was to Flynn and the knights.

"Yuri, I—"

"It doesn't suit you." His words leeched the color from the world. The grass dulled. The clear sky was no longer painful to behold.

"Doesn't suit me?" He looked down at his captain's uniform. He'd earned it.

"Take off that mask."

"Mask?"

Reaching up to touch his face, he found something between gloved fingers and skin. It had no weight to it, nor the bulk of a helmet. He found the edge of it just beneath his jawline. Behind him, the knights stood impassive as he pulled off the mask.

The lower quarter hummed all around him, a droning beat of conversation, footsteps, hard work, and community. The mask was gone, and Flynn ducked his head, covering his face with his hands. He knew without seeing that his eyes were gone, nothing but empty darkness filling his sockets. He couldn't let the people see. They'd be horrified, disgusted. They would know he'd failed. They would forsake him.

"Lift up your head."

Yuri was still facing away from him. Flynn could tell from the way his voice sounded, from the way it had to turn around and loop through the crowd to reach him. It carried shadows with it that darted like fish through the market sea.

"My eyes... Yuri, I—"

"He took them. We'll get them back, though. You've already got one."

"I don't. I—"

"I gave it to you last time."

Just as Yuri said, there it was. He could see out of one eye, and he looked down at his hands, turned them over in astonishment. Taking off the mask had stripped him down to childhood. He wore his old clothes, thin and threadbare, rips and cuts and punctures stitched and patched up like so many old scars. His body beneath was unmarred.

Looking up, he saw Yuri standing as still and dark as nights beyond the barriers. They were the only unmoving souls amid the rush, and Flynn began to shoulder his way through to Yuri's side. Although he never saw Yuri move, he couldn't manage to come face to face with him. He circled, battered by the crowd that remained a faceless current.

"We'll get the other one back," Yuri promised him.

Flynn had only just gotten close enough to reach out and touch his back when he awoke with a start, grasping at empty air.

For a long moment, his arm hung above him, as if suspended from the top of his tent. His heart had started pounding somewhere between dreaming and waking, and he let his arm fall with a soft thump onto the tangled covers of his bedroll. He took a few minutes to just breathe, pushing sweat-damp hair off his forehead as the dream escaped him. It didn't leave him in peace.

They were only a day out from the desert ruins of Yormgen, and the little tent had grown far too hot and close while he'd slept. He wouldn't have pitched the thing at all when he and his knights had stopped for the night, except he was a captain now, and officers of that rank did _not_ sleep exposed under the stars, not when there was a tent available.

Although, as he worked his legs free of the bedroll and sat up, he appreciated the privacy. He must have been tossing and turning as bad as Yuri.

Waking thoughts of his friend brought a grimace to his face. There had been too much going on for him to focus on Yuri's crimes, but they'd taken up lodgings in the back of his mind, and hadn't left him alone but for short stretches of immediate danger or exhausted, oblivious sleep. The clamor of action-reason-guilt-justice-consequence-responsibility was a circling argument that fed on itself and seemed without end. Sorting it all out was an undertaking he wasn't prepared for.

He crawled free of the tent, graceless and in no mood to care about his appearance or rank. He felt thick-headed and clumsy, and his fingers fumbled with the tack for his horse. The air was as still as in his dream, and sweat trickled down his back. The plain tunic he wore was damp with it, enough that, when the tremors began, he couldn't tell if they were due to a chill or the early start after a poor night's sleep or to the agitation that crouched ready to spring in his joints. His horse caught his mood and picked its way nervously out of camp until Flynn urged him into a gallop across the plain.

The sun was only just stirring, not quite yet ready to rise, and the world was indistinct in predawn blacks and grays. Even the grass was silvered with dew. As he rode, Flynn rubbed at his eyes, one after the other. He couldn't tell if his vision was blurring, or if it was merely a trick of the misty, gray light.

Faded to the insubstantiality of early morning starlight, the dream had still left him with the image of black pits where his eyes should have been, and a foul mood to start the day with. He had enough work before him without his sleep being interrupted by strange, unsettling dreams. There was the question of what to do about Yuri, for one thing, though that was a problem that could be pushed into the future beyond the other emergencies that were rising like maggots from the bloated, corrupted corpse that the empire looked to for law and order.

It was still so hard to believe that Alexei was a traitor. Flynn had believed in him, believed in his ideals. He had believed in the Imperial Knights. How had the Knights fallen so far? How had things gotten so bad without him seeing it?

Yuri had seen. Seen and acted, and now Flynn wasn't sure if he was part of the problem or part of the solution. He tried to push that uncertainty away. There were other problems that required his attention. He had a job in front of him, and he would do it, and do it right to make up for his lack, for the blindness that had allowed the rot within the Knights to spread. He would tackle the problems before him one by one, until he made up for his blind faith, and then he would turn his attention to Yuri. What he would find there remained to be seen.


	3. Polish the Stars

A/N: This one was inspired by Shel Silverstein's "Somebody has to go polish the stars" poem. I've always really liked that one. =)

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

Another day had passed. The ships put into port with nothing to show for their efforts, and Flynn disembarked with a heavy heart. It was getting more and more difficult to hold onto the hope that Yuri was out there somewhere, _alive_. Flynn wasn't entirely sure what kept that tenuous flame lit. Belief in Yuri's strength, or disbelief that he could be taken away so easily? Was he stubborn, or merely foolish? He wanted to think that, if Yuri was actually dead, then he would know for certain. He wanted to believe that the bond they had, which had lasted them through so many trials, was strong enough for that. He didn't know what the world would be like without Yuri. He didn't want to find out.

Flynn made his way back to the palace in a haze of exhaustion and pain. His shoulder ached with every beat of his heart. Perhaps if he had taken the time to rest it would have fully healed from the injury he'd suffered at Zaude. Instead, he'd taken up the search for Yuri just as soon as he'd heard his friend was missing.

Ever since Mantaic, Flynn had been questioning Yuri's decisions and his own reactions, second guessing himself and wondering if either of them had done the right thing. He'd been weighing Yuri and everything they had between them against the sort of justice they'd wanted for the world. Loss had provided a harsh clarity to his priorities. Yuri's absence and the uncertainty surrounding it left Flynn drained. More than the hours spent searching, it was _not knowing_ what had become of Yuri that left him worn out. Even during the times they'd fought, even when he hadn't been able to justify Yuri's actions, he still had never felt so empty.

He let his feet bring him back to his room in the palace. He took off his armor automatically, and only paused for a moment when he realized he had returned by force of habit to his previous quarters. Officially, he was now housed in the Commandant's suite. His old room hadn't been reassigned, however, and he didn't bother leaving.

_When Yuri comes back, he'll be able to find me here_, his tired mind suggested. Yuri had never been to his new quarters. He could find this room, though. He'd come to visit before, once or twice. He'd sat on the bed, legs stretched out into the square of sunlight from the window.

Flynn dropped heavily onto the bed and sat a moment. The memory slipped from his mind, and he let himself fall over sideways. He buried his face in sheets that still smelled faintly of soap from the laundry. What had they talked about that day? He couldn't remember. He could barely focus enough to try.

_Yuri... Where are you?_

"Here!"

The night was clear and cool. Grass rustled around him as Flynn sat up. The hilltop was empty, an expanse of silvery light and shifting shadows. A soft breeze created waves in the sea of tall, thick grass, and the undulations flowed down into the valley where they washed up against the walls of the capital. Zaphias gleamed within the circle of its barrier. It outshone the stars, as if the city had swallowed the moon out of the sky. It was the brightest thing in the night, the brightest thing in the entire colorless world. Flynn turned away, searching for Yuri.

"Where did you go? I can't see you."

"Where are you looking?" Echoes of his laughter spilled out into the night. "Up here!"

A sudden gust tore through the leaves of the tree that crowned the hill as Flynn turned to look up into its dark branches. Yuri was barely more than another shadow where he sat perched on the highest limb likely to hold him. He smiled down at Flynn, though the expression was veiled in darkness.

"It's about time you woke up. Come on."

"What are you doing up there?"

"We promised, didn't we? Come help me polish the stars."

"Help you _what_?"

Yuri turned away and climbed higher. "I've been waiting for you to wake up. I can't do this alone."

"How can I help?" He circled the tree, but couldn't find a branch low enough to grab. There was no handy knot where he could get a foothold to boost himself up. How had Yuri gotten up there?

"Grab one and shine it up."

"I can't—"

"Here."

He saw Yuri reach up through the canopy of leaves. His arm was silhouetted against the inky blue sky with its dusting of dull stars. Flynn watched as Yuri's fingers raked across the night, catching up stars that gathered like pebbles in his hands. Some slipped from between his fingers or were knocked loose to rain down upon the hill. Flynn heard them fall through the tree, pattering against the leaves. One landed near his feet, and he almost couldn't find it again beneath the nodding leaves of grass. Only luck allowed him to spot it winking beneath a pass of his hands, and he scooped it up out of the dirt before he lost sight of its dying glow.

The star was the size of his thumbnail, a rough little pebble of dull silver that pulsed with a weak inner light. He gathered a corner of his cape around it, gently scrubbing away the tarnish. Soon, it shone in his fingers, a diamond of fire the color of new fallen snow. Flynn held it up against the dark sky, marveling at the change. His focus darted back and forth between the single star he'd restored, and the countless others needing his attention.

"It's too much, Yuri. We'll never finish like this." There were too many stars to polish them all one by one. There had to be a way to brighten them all at once.

"I don't know any other way. I have to do what I can." Once more, Yuri stretched up toward the heavens. He was reaching for Brave Vesperia, but it hung just beyond his grasp. The tree shook as he climbed higher.

"Come down. Those branches can't hold your weight."

"It's okay, Flynn. I have to do this."

The wind was picking up again. It whipped through the leaves and set the branches to swaying. Their eerie creaking sounded almost like whispers.

"Please, Yuri, come down! You're going to fall!"

He knew it with absolute certainty. As Yuri stretched for the star once more, Flynn desperately tried to position himself beneath his friend, hoping to catch him. No matter where he moved around the tree, however, Yuri was always leaning out away from him. His face was fixed upward, eyes trained on the star. He made no sound when he fell.

"_Yuri_!"

Flinging himself forward, Flynn rounded the tree in time to see Yuri plummet into the grass with a sharp splash. Droplets of water hit his face, and a wave crested with foam rose from the spot where Yuri had disappeared from his sight. It was followed by another and another, each bigger than the last. They rushed out over the hill, over the grass and into the night. The water shoved Flynn back. It lifted him off his feet and carried him away from Yuri, down the hill, down to the moon-bright city of Zaphias and the safety of its barrier. He struggled and shouted Yuri's name, choking on seawater, desperate for any sign of his friend, desperate for a breath of air. He was choking, drowning, losing the fight, losing Yuri! He couldn't cry out, couldn't breathe—!

Flynn gasped as he toppled onto the floor and woke from the dream. He lay on his back for several long minutes, chest heaving as he coughed and tried to catch his breath. By the time he sat up, he was shaking and his teeth were chattering. He hadn't changed before passing out on the bed, and his clothes had been soaked through with sea spray. They clung to him, icy against his skin, and he shuddered as he remembered the dream and the sensation of drowning. He was made sick with the fear that Yuri's last moments may have been filled with that same struggle to draw breath.

He pulled himself to his knees, then sagged beside the bed, fists clenched tight in the rumpled sheets.

"_Yuri_..."

His friend's name emerged on a shaky breath. Flynn could feel tears forming, burning behind his eyes. He forced them back. It wasn't time for that. He hadn't given up. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger.

"I know you're alive, Yuri. I _know_ you are. Hold on. Come back to me if you can. Wait for me if you have to."

Miserable and exhausted, he rested his forehead against the bed and clung to his stubborn belief in his equally stubborn friend. They'd made a promise together, hadn't they? Yuri couldn't just leave that unfinished.

"You can't give up, Yuri. I can't do this without you."

Once the night passed, he would be out with the dawn, searching. He refused to give up hope.


	4. Choices

A/N: Finally, one for the dream set that deals with Yuri's dreams! I enjoyed writing this one. It was interesting trying to blend nightmares and double meanings with imagery from a half-remembered story from childhood.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

_Yuri's boot came down with a deadened scrunch on a patch of gravelly dirt. He stopped and turned to view his surroundings. Aside from the irregular splash of bare ground where he stood, the entirety of the valley around him was thickly carpeted with flowers. They swayed in the light breeze, dazzlingly white petals and sun gold centers gazing adoringly up at the clear sky. Yuri looked up to see what held their attention. The bright blue dome above him was clear as a flawless marble, though clouds gathered around the horizon, dark and vaguely threatening where they rose above the shadowy mountains cupping the valley. There was a storm rolling in from all sides._

_He turned his attention back to the flowers, sweeping his gaze across them. They were countless, growing thickly enough to take on the appearance of snow drifts near the foot of the mountains. He'd gotten turned around and couldn't see where he'd entered the valley. There was no trodden path visible, not the slightest disturbance to the blanket of gold-flecked white._

_Something important was hidden among the flowers. He wished he could remember what it was_.

Memories flocked to Yuri's waking mind as he lay still and listened to the sounds of peaceful sleep from his traveling companions. Years and years ago, back when whatever fight he and Flynn got into could be solved by sharing a piece of bread, he could remember the feel of gentle hands stroking back his hair as a cool cloth was pressed to his forehead. He'd gotten sick. Had it been Hanks' wife or Flynn's mother who had cared for him that time? He couldn't remember. He remembered heavy blankets and hot, salty broth. He remembered a soft voice telling him stories as he faded in and out of fever dreams.

_Once upon a time, there was an innkeeper's daughter, a young maiden who, though humbly born, was beautiful as a sunset and carried herself as if the blood of kings flowed through her veins. The man she loved was a daring and devoted youth, but poor and without prospects that would allow him to provide her the comfortable life he felt she deserved. Though she assured him over and over that his love alone was more than enough to make her happy until the end of her days, he became a knight and set out to earn his fortune, planning to ask for her hand upon his return._

Estelle sat up and yawned. The movement of her outstretched arms seemed to push the old story away, and the words faded before the day's concerns. Ragou had been arrested a second time, but since he'd managed to weasel his way out of justice once already, Yuri wanted to hear straight from Flynn what the magistrate's punishment would be. The extension of the corruption in Capua Nor had been staggering, and he couldn't understand why word of it hadn't reached any helpful ears. There was something more going on, and, though he couldn't see the shape of it just yet, it felt big. Over the years, he'd developed a sixth sense for trouble apart from his outrage at obvious injustices. The situation he'd blundered into had his hackles up, and he wasn't looking forward to being caught up in whatever carefully woven web it was part of.

* * *

_His blade moved swifter with a threat against Flynn to motivate it. One slice was all it took. It was practically effortless, and he watched the magistrate's cloak flutter down to the paving stones at his feet, shedding bits of emptiness like straw. As he looked down on the puppet lying slashed clean through, he felt empty himself. He lifted the bundle, and the silks flowed like blood over his hands. Ragou had a marionette's carved face, glass eyes rolling wildly in his painted wooden skull. They focused only a moment on Yuri before he tossed his burden over the side of the bridge. Without waiting for the splash, he turned around._

_The lush field of flowers spread out from around his feet. This time, there was no small clearing to stand in, and he held himself perfectly still. The blossoms waved like a flag in the breeze, brushing against his boots halfway up his calf. He remembered that he had to pick one, one in particular, but they all looked the same to him and, as he glanced around with increasing agitation, he wondered how he was supposed to search without tromping over half of them._

_A soft sound snatched at his attention, and he felt the breath flee his lungs as he looked down to see a single drop of blood upon one of the flowers. Hurriedly, he wiped his dirtied hands on his vest. No matter how roughly he tried to scrub off the blood, however, it continued to well in his palms and drip from his fingers. Light faded, drawn up into the gathering storm to feed the roiling clouds. There was a chill in the air._

_Time was running out._

Yuri woke with a stifled gasp. He held himself still so as not to disturb the others, though the creaking of the ship and the constant sound of waves breaking against her hull probably would have drowned out any small noises he made. They were working their way to Nordopolica on board the Fiertia and, although he was excited to be traveling by sea and invigorated by fights against bands of raiding mermen, whenever he happened to sit still, he was swamped with a weariness that brought him back to some of his worst days in Zaphias, back to before he'd gotten caught up in an adventure. At those times, his mood soured enough to make him wonder if it had been worth it to leave his home.

He'd had trouble sleeping ever since he'd dealt with— _Murdered_. He forced himself to call it what it was. He'd had trouble sleeping ever since he'd _murdered_ Ragou. If insomnia didn't deny him rest, what sleep he got was troubled by strange dreams. He frowned, thinking suddenly that the vague notions of a vast field of flowers had been part of an earlier dream. The realization made it seem as if his actions were creeping back to affect everything he'd ever been. He shuddered, and reminded himself that he had done what was necessary.

There was so much going on, so much chaos in the outside world that had never filtered back to the folk in the capital. He'd joined a guild—a good thing, he felt. A choice he could live well with, perhaps. A step towards living the sort of life he could enjoy and be proud of.

Other parts of the journey were more complicated, troublesome, even disturbing. He'd murdered Ragou. No forgetting that. More than anything else, he felt...dirtied by the experience. He shouldn't have. It had been necessary. He'd saved lives. He'd killed an old, unarmed man. Oh, Ragou was a monster, sure as the mermen, but he was a sneaky, human one, and when he attacked, it wasn't directly or with weapons. He was a user and a killer and a coward, and Yuri still took no pride in the way he'd cut the man down.

Then, there was Cumore—always insufferable, but now revealed to be worse than Yuri had expected—and his cooperation with Yeager. Treason. Danger. More threads weaving a pattern that still wasn't entirely clear. He hoped Flynn would be able to uproot that particular mess and put an end to it.

Flynn. Another complication. It was almost funny to look at the parallels between them and the story that had been haunting his thoughts. Wasn't Flynn just like the boy that had run off to become a knight? Hadn't he always been coming back to the Lower Quarter, trying to save Yuri, trying to uproot him, to pluck him away from obscurity? Four years of Yuri being just another Lower Quarter troublemaker, no one special, no one that a respectable knight like Flynn ought to have been associating with, certainly. Now, here he was, free of the field and wandering the world but still completely unsuited to stand by Flynn's side. Joke was on Flynn for trying.

What was Flynn thinking lately, anyway? One day saying that Yuri didn't have the power to change anything because he wasn't a Knight, then turning around and admitting the same of himself. What was the uniform worth if it couldn't even protect people? Why couldn't Flynn have found a way before Yuri had dirtied his hands? Stupid to wonder about things like that. He'd made his choice, and there was no sense allowing himself to be bitter at Flynn over it. Flynn had no idea. Yuri hoped he would never find out, though realistically it was probably only a matter of time. He feared that day, for more reasons than he would allow himself to think about.

None of those snarls were even part of their current problem. The new guild Brave Vesperia was working for Estelle, trying to track down the monster, Phaeroh, that had appeared before her. There was more to Estelle than a kindhearted princess, that much had been apparent for some time. Now, it seemed there was more to her than even she knew.

Shaking his head, he got out of his bunk and headed up onto the deck, Repede at his side. No use thinking about everything that was going on when there wasn't anything he could do about it just then. A bit of hard work and maybe a fight would do him a lot more good.

Much later that night, with sleep stealing up upon him, drying his eyes and weighing down his limbs as he sat on his bunk, he listened tiredly as Raven regaled them with tall tales. He was reminded of that old story, and it tickled at his mind, fraying his focus even as the words came back to him, dreamlike in their clarity and leaving no room in his awareness for the waking world.

_It wasn't a full day after her knight had left her side that the innkeeper's daughter was approached by a stranger newly come to town. This stranger arrived in a fine carriage. He wore silks and gold and gems, and spent freely of his wealth among the shops. It did not take him long to notice the innkeeper's beautiful daughter, nor to decide that he wished for her to be one more bit of glittering finery that he could show off. He proposed to her that very evening, but she firmly refused him. Though her words were not unkind, they stirred a darkness within him that could be seen in the cold glint of his eyes. He told the girl that he would return to ask her again the next night, and that it would go the better for her should she reconsider her answer._

* * *

The situation in Mantaic made him sick with fury. He'd once been a member of the Knights. He'd once believed that they could be a force for good!

He wondered, not for the first time, if anything good could come of Flynn remaining with the Knights. He'd been so quick to point out that Yuri had been powerless after leaving, but what could Flynn achieve in an organization so corrupt that an entire brigade could turn a town into hell without consequence? Flynn had been acting the dutiful soldier for so long that Yuri couldn't hold back all the fearsome doubts. Given the extent of the atrocities Cumore had ordered committed, _someone_ must have known. Why hadn't he ever been stopped? Why hadn't Flynn stopped them?

What if Flynn had known?

The thought churned his stomach. It had been haunting him since before they'd arrived. No matter how many times he told himself it wasn't possible, that awful suspicion kept returning.

Either way, it was clear that help wasn't going to come from the empire. Yuri could see two paths open to him. He didn't have much choice over which to follow.

That night, as everyone got ready for bed, Yuri lay down knowing that, one way or another, Cumore would be stopped for good. He would see to it himself. He had the resolve. Hell, he'd done it already before. What difference would it make to dirty his hands with the blood of one more monster? After all, there was no one else he could count on to save the citizens of Mantaic.

He couldn't rely on Flynn.

The thought weighed on him, an insidious creature of his mind's devising that sat heavily on his chest, crushing him. Of all the burdens he had taken on, that was one he had never imagined possible. He had always relied on Flynn. Flynn was the good one, Flynn was the one who could be counted on. He was supposed to be the one who fixed things while Yuri spent his days trying to keep things from getting worse and worse in a hundred little, useless ways. Flynn was everybody's hope. He was supposed to have been Yuri's, too.

He'd told Flynn about Ragou, over and over, and still...! Rolling over, he curled in on himself in the darkness. His logical mind knew why Flynn hadn't been able to do anything more, but Yuri's heart cataloged it as a betrayal. Yet even still, he'd bloodied his hands. Though it had been his choice, made on behalf of the people at Ragou's mercy, he hated the situation that had laid such a burden at his feet to be picked up and carried with him for the rest of his days. He could still remember the noise Ragou had made, the way his breath had caught in his throat.

_Necessary_, he reminded himself. _It was necessary._

Needing to escape his thoughts, if only for a little while, Yuri picked up the thread of the old story he'd begun to remember. He told it to himself as he waited for the others to fall asleep.

_The girl would not let herself be bullied or intimidated, and she refused to hide from the stranger when he returned the next night. She looked him in the eye as he approached her and refused him even the tiniest smile. When he stood before her, he was displeased by her manner, and looked down on her as he spoke._

"_Marry me," he said to her, "and you will be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams."_

"_I would not marry you for all the gold in the world," she replied._

"_Marry me and I shall take you from this dismal town and you shall have a life of luxury in my grand palace."_

"_I would not marry you even if it would make me mistress of a hundred grand palaces."_

"_Once more I shall ask you, and once more only," he warned. "Marry me, and I shall pluck down the moon for you. I will make the stars rain from the sky and you shall wear them as diamonds."_

"_Once more I will tell you, and I tell you my answer shall not change. I will not marry you, not for wealth or comfort or aught else you have to offer me. There is coldness in your eyes, and I could never love one such as you."_

_Seething with rage, his contorted features resembled a demon more than a man. "I have given you a chance to consider my offer, and three chances to change your mind. Now, I shall give you cause to regret spurning me! From this day forth, you shall be cursed!"_

_In the next instant, he was gone, vanished before her eyes. The girl knew then that he was a wizard, and felt a tremor of fear. Her sleep that night was restless, and she woke before dawn still wondering what curse the wizard had laid upon her. She felt no different but, as the first rays of the sun shone over the horizon, the magic took effect._

_The wizard had left her her awareness, and she found herself suddenly transformed into a pink, one among countless others, all as alike as grains of sand on the beach. As the curse knew her form, she knew the form of the curse and would have wept were she able. The nights would be hers as a human, but she would remain a flower during the day until a time came when someone who loved her could pluck her—and _only_ her—from out among all the others._

_The flowers rustled restlessly in the breeze, swaying like the waves of the sea. The storm was rolling in from all sides, boiling up over the surrounding mountains and slowly eclipsing the light. It rumbled ominously. There was not much time before the downpour would begin._

_Yuri tried to slide his foot forward, but stopped when he saw stems bending beneath his boot. Carefully, carefully, he set his foot back down. He couldn't break any stems. Everything would be ruined if he did so before finding what was hidden in the field. All the same, he had to act quickly. He had to find the right flower before the storm broke._

_A soft sound from the ground beside him was a drop of blood falling from his hand onto a petal. Hastily, he wiped his hands once more on the front of his shirt. It did no good. The blood continued to well up no matter how thoroughly he wiped his hands clean. There was no wound to bandage. He was marked. Staring down at the flower, he watched the droplet of blood ooze down the petal. It spread as it went, a red stain that ate into the flower and withered it, turning it into an ugly, tainted thing._

_Upon hearing a soft patter, Yuri's heart leapt into his throat. Rain was starting to fall, a few, fat drops, as thick and red as the blood that dripped from his hands. Horrified, he watched as the same taint began to take hold around the far edges of the valley._

_Time was running out._

Yuri woke with a start, heart pounding and any chance of getting back to sleep gone. Cautiously, he sat up and peered around the room. His friends all slept soundly. Outside, Mantaic was wrapped in the hours when the night was its thickest. Drawing a breath, he found his resolve once more and reached for his sword.

It was time Cumore faced what justice was left to him.

* * *

Estelle knew what he'd done. It was a lot for her to take in, and Yuri caught her watching him every now and again. At least she hadn't abandoned him yet.

No. He couldn't think like that. It wasn't right to expect her to continue traveling with him after what he had done. He was lucky that she had even given him a chance while she thought it over.

He hadn't wanted her to know. Hadn't wanted any of them to find out, but that was just more selfishness. They had a right to know that they were traveling with a murderer. They would probably learn the truth soon enough, and Yuri knew that he ought to tell them himself before circumstance did it for him, but he couldn't bring himself to confess. Every time he had almost worked up the nerve, a little voice pleaded for one more day, just one, give it just a bit more time, let the journey go on for just a little longer. He gave in each time and held his peace. His friends had come to mean as much to him as the people of the Lower Quarter. He feared losing them, but he had made his choices and there was nothing he could do to avoid the consequences forever.

At night, as they rested on their way back to Nordopolica, he gazed up at the stars and thought about the journey, about the friends he had made and the amazing things he had seen. He thought about how strong he'd grown and how many battles he'd fought. He thought about enemies and the blood on his hands.

He also listened. Estelle was a treasure trove of stories, and she spent as much time as all the rest of them entertaining the group. She happened to know the story of the girl who had been turned into a pink, though her version was a bit different. The way she told it, the girl had been a princess cursed by a envious witch. The core of the story was the same, though Yuri liked the version in his memory better. Still, he listened as she told it. The sound of her voice helped him get to sleep at night.

"_When the king learned of the princess's curse, he sent messengers far and wide to bring back someone who could love his daughter enough that he would be able to see past her form and find her in that vast field of flowers. The princess had little hope for such a solution, because her dearest love had long since set out in order to do great deeds and distinguish himself as a knight in order that he would be worthy of her hand. He had been gone for more than a year, however, and she feared that he had perished during his quest, for she had received no word from him in that whole time._

"_Her nights were spent under study of the palace physicians and magicians, none of which could find a way to cure her or break the curse. They poked and prodded and questioned until she couldn't take it anymore and sought solace alone in her room or with the king. She pleaded with him to try and find her—for shouldn't a father's love be strong enough?—but he could not tell her apart in the field, and would not risk picking the wrong flower and leaving her changed permanently._

"_Though she struggled not to lose heart, the princess began to fear that she would never be free of the curse._"

* * *

As he raced with his friends through the streets of Nordopolica, revelations that only spawned more questions tumbled through Yuri's head. Entelexia, apatheia, Estelle's power, and the Empire's ambition. They were all tied in together, and it was obvious that something was very, very wrong. Caught up in trying to piece it all together into a whole that he could understand, he was unprepared to find Flynn waiting for him at the docks.

Yuri skidded to a stop. A couple of the others slammed into him from behind, making him sway forward. He threw out his hands, trying to keep his balance, trying to keep them back because he dreaded what Flynn might say. He had wasted too much time savoring his new friendships before he had to risk losing them to the truth. Flynn was going to speak up first. He'd always beaten Yuri at everything else. Why not this, too?

"Return Lady Estellise and the stone."

His manner was cold as he said it, the spitting image of every knight that had ever looked straight through Yuri because he was nothing but Lower Quarter trash, just one more troublemaker running around causing problems. Yuri could barely stand to look at him so wound up in the Empire's shady schemes. He could barely stand the pain of seeing Flynn look at him that way.

There was a confrontation coming. Yuri knew it even before Flynn repeated his demand, even before he put his hand to his sword. He saw it in Flynn's expression, in the way he had squared his shoulders when their eyes met. Yuri had never wanted to run from a fight so badly in his life. It wasn't even losing that he feared, but what would be revealed if he got into it with Flynn in front of his friends. He couldn't let this go, though. Flynn had gone too far.

"Just what the hell are you doing?" He ignored the arrival of Sodia and Witcher as they came to back up their boss. "Using the military to get control of the city? That's taking things a bit far. Maybe you're carrying out your 'duty,' but you can't just go around doing everything by force."

The hypocrisy wasn't lost on him, but its sting didn't much matter. He'd already dirtied his hands. Whatever tattered honor was left to him would be devoted to making sure that Flynn didn't come out of this mess stained. If he would just open his eyes and pay attention to what was going on under the surface...!

"Captain, awaiting orders!"

Sodia was glaring. She wanted to rush him, shut him up, clap him in irons, maybe get a few hits in while he couldn't fight back the Knight were all the same. Flynn, though, Flynn was hesitating, and Yuri pressed on desperately.

"I thought you were with the Knights to change things like that. I don't know why I'm the one who has to be saying this stuff. You know it full well yourself."

"I..."

"Cat got your tongue?" _See it, Flynn. Look at me and see what you're becoming!_ "I mean, how's this any different from what I've come to expect from the empire? Are you gonna follow Ragou and Cumore's examples?"

"If I did, would you just kill me as well? Would you do away with me like you did Ragou and Cumore?"

He'd known it was coming. It wasn't as if he'd left Flynn any choice. It still hit him as solid and painful as a punch to the gut. Until he actually heard the words, until he heard Karol's gasp, sharp as a knife to the heart, he hadn't entirely believed Flynn would betray him like that. Hurt and anger over the attack surged through him, and he had to remind himself that it wasn't any fault of Flynn's. He had chosen his path, he had chosen to hide it, and he had forced Flynn to reveal that secret. Better it was all out in the open, anyway. He was what he had become, and he would continue down that path as far as was necessary to protect people...no matter if the friends he'd made praised him or hated him.

The only question he had left was: What was _Flynn_ becoming? Yuri hoped it was merely blind obedience that drove him. He could be cured of that if he would just open his eyes and look at what was going on. If true loyalty motivated him, it would spell an end to their friendship. If Flynn could look at what the Knights had become, if he could see all the damage they were doing in the name of carrying out mysterious orders and still remain loyal to those in power, then there was no doubt in Yuri's mind that they would cross swords as enemies one day soon.

He only hoped that he would be strong enough to save Flynn from himself.

Rita saved him, bless her. She broke right into the middle of the stalemate, reminding him that they had to get out of the city. He took off with his friends, leaving Flynn standing still and mute while his subordinates awaited orders. Yuri only hoped that, when those orders came, they would be the right ones.

His legs were shaking as he boarded the Fiertia. It had taken more strength than he had expected to face up to those fears that had been lurking in the back of his mind: the fear that Flynn might no longer be the person Yuri had grown up with; that his time with the Knights might have changed him, made him into one of those who abused their power under orders or simply because they could. He didn't want to believe it was even possible, but he still didn't understand exactly what was going on or what Flynn was fighting for. It was one more burden he'd never wanted to carry.

He caught Karol staring at him. The betrayal in the boy's expression was too much, and Yuri turned away, searching for a task to give him an excuse to flee. The look in Karol's eyes had hit too close to home. The time had come to pay the price for his choices.

* * *

It was quiet. It was eerily, unnervingly quiet after all the noise and chaos that had been the fight to retake the city and save Estelle. There was still a great deal to do. There was still endless movement, marching, charging, clanking, but all of that felt far away. Flynn's room was dim and still, a little corner of the past ripped out of time and brought forward to hold them and give them a space to rest amid the change. It had allowed them a place to talk for a moment. Flynn had been working up to something, an expression of gratitude for some of the things Yuri had done. It was just as well he hadn't quite gotten there. Yuri wouldn't have accepted it, though the offer meant more to him than he felt he could ever say.

Sodia was there, standing quietly at attention by Flynn's side after having burst in with news of his promotion. She was a good knight, probably. Flynn had reaffirmed Yuri's faith in him, at the end. He wouldn't keep a dishonorable knight at his side. He would rise to this challenge, this opportunity. He would fix things. Yuri pinned that belief to his heart. Flynn had always been the better of them.

He smiled, though it felt tremulous. This journey he had started on had been wild from the start, and it wasn't quite over yet. He looked forward to being able to rest.

A thought struck him as he was turning to go. He wished Sodia wasn't there to overhear, but...

"Hey, Flynn? Do you remember that story your mom used to tell?" Or had it been Hanks' wife? He'd been too sick to remember the storyteller behind the tale that had woven itself into his fever dreams. "It was the one about the girl who turned into a flower during the day. She was cursed. Her lover came home and was told that he'd have to pick her out of a whole field of flowers to break the curse. All the flowers looked alike, though, and he..." Yuri trailed off as he saw confusion spread over Flynn's face.

"I don't remember that story. Are you sure it was my mother that told you?"

"Nah. Not really. Never mind."

He was almost out the door before Flynn asked him why, and he paused on the threshold.

"No reason. I've just been thinking about it lately. I can't remember how it ends—you know, how he figures out which flower is the girl."

"I...have no idea. Perhaps Lady Estellise—"

Yuri waved off the suggestion. "It's fine. It doesn't matter. Good night."

"Good night, Yuri."

The words barely escaped before he closed the door behind himself. He was exhausted, but he wasn't the only one who'd had a long day. The knowledge that he wouldn't be able to sleep until after checking on the others got him moving. Just a little longer, and he'd be able to rest for a little while. Tomorrow would bring Alexei's reckoning and, Yuri suspected, his own.

* * *

_The mountains drank in the rain that fell upon them and darkened to the color of old blood. The flowers clinging to the rocky soil at their feet withered before his eyes. Without taking a step, he turned this way and that, but saw the same no matter where he looked. The storm was closing in over the valley from all sides, raining its poison down upon the once luminous flowers. _

_As the wind picked up, Yuri's ears began playing tricks on him. Voices seemed to whisper in the rustling of the leaves, in the very rush of the air past his ears. They were sharp and haughty, accusing, laughing, hissing, hinting. They crept up upon him to whisper his own worst secrets into his ears. He whipped around, trying to catch a glimpse of the speakers, but he was alone in the valley. Alone, and running out of time._

_He still had to find the flower, still had to pluck it free and protect it from the withering rain. He had one chance, one chance in a hundred thousand, a fragile thread of hope as mocking as the thunder that rumbled like laughter overhead._

_The whispers grew in volume. Something stirred around his boots, and Yuri looked down._

_The blood hadn't stopped welling from his hands. His shirt was soaked with it. It dripped from the hem, ran down his legs, fell from the tips of his fingers. He watched it splatter over the flowers, corrupting them as surely as the rain. They blackened and wrinkled, grew thick and fleshy. Their roots rose above the soil as if trying to escape the poison seeping down below the surface. They writhed, a rank, hissing carpet of rot and decay that left him staggering back in horror._

_White blossoms were trampled beneath Yuri's boots. The blood on his hands fell, eating into them like acid. He had to find the flower he needed to pick. He had to pluck it from this nightmare...!_

_The flowers of the field swayed in the wind. They were pale and lifeless, their color and vitality sapped by the shadows of the storm clouds. Then—a glimmer! A single, bright flower, alight with hope when all the others had faded._

_Yuri turned toward it so fast that he stumbled. His heel dug into the soft earth, into the mud of blood and dirt and rotting petals. Stems and roots reached out to hold him back. Petals latched onto his legs and refused to let go. He tore free, but the flowers reached for him in waves, blackened by the storm, by his own corruption, maddened, and hungry. Flowers were crushed under his boots as he ran, leaves and petals were torn free and tossed to the furious wind. Struggling against earth that gave way beneath his feet, against roots that tried to drag him down, Yuri fought to reach the flower, grasping for it even as he lost his footing and went crashing to the ground._

Yuri woke with the sensation of falling. The mattress beneath him shuddered along with the illusion. He lay still on his stomach, gulping air and trying to regain his bearings. Accustomed now to waking up in unfamiliar beds, it took him several long moments to remember that he had been given a room to stay in at the palace. With that realization, the rest of the situation came flooding back to him to wash the dream away. Today, they would follow Alexei to Zaude. Yuri would have a shot at retribution and, maybe, the world would see some justice.

He smiled into his pillow, then rolled aside and leapt from the bed. Crossing to the window, he flung it open and took a deep breath of the chill, predawn air. He felt energized, eager for the fight to come. He felt like he could take on the whole damn world.

The ending of the story had come back to him in those first, breathless moments of wakefulness. It felt like a sign. For weeks, he'd been questioning himself, fearing the price he might have to pay, feeling weak with relief when his friends hadn't turned their backs on him. It had felt like he had lost part of his identity, but Yuri was certain that the battle against Alexei would help him reclaim it. He wouldn't be fighting alone. His friends would be there at his side. And afterward, when it was all over, maybe then he would be at peace with himself at last.

Yuri grinned out over the city. Things would be better, soon. After Zaude, he would know where he stood.

* * *

As he let himself fall back onto the ground, Yuri couldn't stop smiling. He was exhausted—had been since he'd woken up in his bed with a gash in his side and a gap in his memory—but now, here, with Flynn at his side and the sun warming his face it was the sort of exhaustion that made him want to relax and sleep. That other, that cold weariness, that had been fear and anger. It had driven him on until he'd found his way back to Flynn and begun feeling a bit more like his old self and not so much like he had to act the part of Yuri Lowell.

Laughter forced its way up between his gasping breaths, rough and broken, but full of relief and not to be denied. The heaviness that had weighed his heart was gone. He was alive and forgiven. He was equal. He was accepted.

Flynn glanced at him, mouth hanging open as he panted. A moment of eye contact was enough for the laughter to spread to him. Even squinted near shut, the blue of his eyes was stunning. He should laugh more often, Yuri thought. Laugh lines would suit his face as he aged. Yuri could see the gap between his two front teeth, the faint sprinkling of freckles across his nose that meant he'd barely been out of the sun for days. There was no judgment in Flynn's face, no anger, no disappointment. It was the brightest moment they had shared in years. Yuri turned his face back up to the sun, scrunching his eyes shut against its light. He savored the moment and the faint sense of warmth along the back of his hand where it rested practically right up against Flynn's.

Who would have thought he'd be given a second chance like this?

They raised their swords. They talked of paths and promises. Hardships had made them grow stronger, had sharpened their convictions into the blades that would cut a new path for the world. Talking with Flynn in an empty field outside a town so new that people were still arguing over the name, Yuri felt at home in a way he hadn't for years. The fight wasn't finished yet, they still had the Adephagos to contend with, but Flynn was on his path, golden and just, and Yuri had found himself and knew that he wouldn't be lost so easily again.

The story came back to him once more, and he had a smile for the ending. Inside, safe and sound. That was the key, that was how the knight had found his lady. She'd been inside out of the cold, protected from the frost that melted to dew and then faded away beneath the sun. Yuri lifted a hand over his heart and curled his fingers in as if he could capture the feeling that had waited there to be acknowledged. He felt free. He felt like he could do anything.

"Hey."

He waited until Flynn was focused completely on him, waited until his grin had grown so large it felt like it might split his face. He was still soaring high after the fight. The world was still bright-edged with victorious giddiness. Words took form within him, creating themselves from feelings he'd carried for years. In all the best fights, all the battles that made him feel most alive, there was a recklessness that took hold of him to guide his movements as if on instinct. Yuri felt it surging through him in that moment, carrying the words like foam upon the tide. He let his heart pour forth.

"I love you."

He watched Flynn go still, watched his eyes grow wide. The blood that rushed into his cheeks made the blue of his irises even more vivid. Yuri watched his mouth fall open, watched his jaw move in search of words that had abandoned him. The sight of him stunned speechless was inexplicably hilarious, and Yuri let his head loll on the grass as he laughed, though he hadn't been joking.

He wasn't sure what Flynn would make of his confession, but that was okay, at least for the time being. It had been an incredible few months, and it wasn't over yet, not with that monster stretching over the sky. Yuri figured he could wait. It would give him one more thing to come back for.

Though Flynn didn't give him an answer, when he stood up, he reached out for Yuri's hand. And even though Yuri had won, even though ending like this with Flynn helping him up out of the grass and dirt was exactly the same way they'd always ended their fights back when Yuri could never win...it felt right. He smiled at Flynn as they brushed ineffectually at their clothes, and his heart must have shown itself in the expression because Flynn's cheeks pinked again, and he dropped his gaze.

"Were you serious?" he asked quietly.

"Aren't I always?"

He couldn't resist teasing, but Flynn looked up at him, gaze steady, though his face remained flushed. Then, with a little smile that made Yuri's heart skip a beat, he nodded shortly. They returned to town and parted ways, each to his own circle of comrades until circumstance or necessity would bring them together again before the final battle.

That night, for the first time since Zaude, Yuri's dreams held no trace of the crypt-cold ocean.

* * *

_The flower at his feet was radiant. Yuri stared at it, hesitating in reach of his goal. He held his trembling, bloodied hands carefully away from its petals, afraid to stain it at the last. The flower had to be picked. It couldn't be allowed to remain in the field, slowly dying of corruption. Even so, he was afraid._

_All around him, the storm raged in eerie silence. The red, poisonous rain continued to fall, closing in around him. The flowers it soaked became twisted and fierce. It would consume everything, even what Yuri had spent so long searching for._

_To touch the flower was to taint it. To hesitate was to condemn it._

_Reaching down with bloodstained fingers, Yuri plucked a spark of light from a dying world. He gasped as its light flared, burning away the darkness and the storm and the entirety of the valley meadow._

He woke with a smile on his lips and sunshine pouring down over his face.


End file.
